Time Away from Home
by kumiya
Summary: When an interdimensional rip crash-lands Samus in Hyrule, she is thrown into a mounting struggle against the local King of Evil. Samus must unlearn her solo nature and join an unlikely team if she is to return home. In the process, she discovers the joys and pains of being another's companion.
1. Prologue: The Rip Opens

**Disclaimer: All characters/franchises property of Nintendo.**

Author's Note: I've played very few video games to utter completion, and only select video games at that. What interests me about Super Smash Bros are the characters. And of all the Nintendo games, I'm most familiar w/ the Legend of Zelda. I won't know all that many canonical details, and I've embarrassingly never played Metroid or Fire Emblem... I will compile particular Zelda universes (mostly Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess), but it's better to simply receive the setting as it comes rather than expecting a particular world. Sorry if you're a stickler about technicalities.

I was inspired to write something after reading Byoshi's fic: The Eulogy and the Unsung Hero. It's pretty awesome! Check it out: www . fanfiction s/ 5453506/ 1/ The-Eulogy-and-the-Unsung-Hero

**Anyways, I hope you can enjoy this! Please review! I'd love to know what you think. I welcome constructive criticism—what did I do right? What can I do better? Or even just a hello! Also, I could use a critical beta…**

* * *

**Prologue: The Rip Opens**

* * *

When Mewtwo destroyed the generator, he had expected a few, fiery pops. Some puffs of smoke. But the gusts of orange and yellow that erupted through Team Rocket's Silph Laboratory had sent the tanks into a gurgling, steaming spray. The walls evaporated; the chemical stocks fizzled into gray-brown plumes. It was a humbling, hypnotic sight. Unfortunately, the blaze had caused the inside of his protective bubble to grow uncomfortably warm. Mewtwo stayed just long enough to watch Giovanni's eyes boil, his face ooze off of his cheekbones. "_Friends indeed,"_ spat the Pokémon. Then he was gone.

His feet warped onto the basement floor. Normally, he would have been greeted by security—dozens of humans armed with stunners and tranquilizers—but they were busy running for their lives. The building groaned. Some lights flickered, others burst. Rare Pokémon cried and paced in their cages. With a wave of his hand, the bars slid open and the beasts sprang down the aisle. Wings, fins, and tails jostled him. However, Mewtwo was still, a pillar amongst the exodus. The panicked crowd was missing someone.

At the end warehouse rose an enormous door. A thick frost crawled up its steel face. The blinking side panel showed that the temperature in the room beyond was already rising, no doubt due to the lack of power. Mewtwo stepped back and raised his arms. His rounded fingers clenched. A dent appeared in the center of the door. Mewtwo furrowed his brow; the dent widened, crumpled inwards. Mewtwo threw his back into it. The thick metal ripped away, crunching down the aisle before stopping dead and ugly.

Panting, Mewtwo peered inside. A thawing iceberg glinted in the darkness. A massive, pink eye stared at him, and Mewtwo still felt a prickle run down his tubed neck. His own irises glowed a bright violet, and the ice began to pool into a large puddle. Mewtwo lifted himself off the ground to avoid the growing stream.

Palkia slumped to the ground. Mewtwo reached inside its mind and prodded gently. The massive creature blinked once, twice, its dilated pupils adjusting to the light.

"_My sincerest apologies."_ Mewtwo bowed his head.

Palkia's roar rattled the walls. It remembered him now. He'd led Team Rocket to its nest, lured it into complacency while they set up their traps and readied their strongest Pokémon. Metwo had dragged Palkia to the ground, paralyzed it with a psychic gravitational pull, so the men could have their way. Palkia lumbered onto its haunches. With a scream, white-hot steam burst from its mouth.

Mewtwo teleported to the side. Though such a predictable attack could not touch him, the leftover miasma clogged in his lungs. The surge itself had rendered a cavernous hole in the warehouse. Now the storm of hungry flames was in plain view. Palkia screamed again, shoulders shaking.

"_Hurry! Escape!" _Mewtwo said. He ducked a torrent of blue-green flame; then, fountains of water, each one more volumous than the last. Palkia swung its head in a lumbering arc, trying to follow the smaller Pokémon as it teleported from place to place. As Mewtwo zig-zagged between its legs and flew circles around its head, Palkia twisted around too far and too quickly, stumbling into a heap. A growl rumbled in its chest, but it did not rise.

Mewtwo blinked away the smoke. The flames were billowing into giant forked tongues, getting ready to consume them. Casting aside all precautions, Mewtwo landed on the tip of Palkia's claw. It was bone hard, and triple Mewtwo's size. A single swipe could split his soft, fleshy body.

"_This tiny place is unworthy of you. The vastness of space calls!" _Mewtwo traced the pink stripe along the creature's arm, and it sprang to life with a glow. Palkia's eyes snapped open again. It lurched upwards and, with all its strength, ripped its claw through air.

Mewtwo's blood stilled. A thousand universes twinkled before him. Despite the swirling ashes and rising heat, he could only watch as Palkia dug its claws into the rip and split it wider. Space glimmered with a dark luminosity. Mewtwo had never seen anything so black and so beautiful.

Palkia swung a giant foot into the chasm. While the exhausted Pokémon could hardly keep itself upright, once through the rip it floated gracefully as a small bird. Mewtwo quashed the twinge of envy in his chest. No, it was not his home. As the warehouse crumbled around him, he realized he was newly displaced. Nowhere to go.

Palkia drifted, limbs akimbo as it relished the weightlessness of space. Then, with ominous slowness, it drifted around to face Mewtwo. The bi-pedal Pokémon felt his insides freeze. He tensed, ready to teleport, but the rip was faster. A roaring wind seized him, sucking him into the glittering sea of space. He tumbled over and under, limbs flailing so violently that they threatened to break. The air whooshed from his flattened lungs. Galaxies spiraled around him, their lights flaring and clashing together as if they fought to outdo each other. Or perhaps it was his bruised brain bouncing in his cranium.

A cold claw seized him. Mewtwo dangled like a corpse, his oversized head lolling. With a victorious cry, the giant Pokémon cut another rip and soared into another part of the universe.

* * *

Samus sighed.

Apparently, she hadn't been completely thorough during her last raid. A handful of space pirates had escaped the aim of her arm cannon and had tracked her to Mute City, where they'd found her gunship docked at a lonely repairs station in the sketchy Outer Ring. Samus had been in hurry and hadn't checked the mechanics herself. It was the first and would be the last time, she cursed, as her ship puttered through the stars at the speed of a one-legged pedestrian. The pirates, weaving around her in their sleek twin-fighters, did loop-de-loops in between shots. Samus thanked that armor upgrade, else her ship would already be sporting several holes.

Her comm-link beeped. They were trying to radio, probably to mock the Great Samus Aran—the galaxy's most notorious bounty hunter, feared by man and alien alike—for her failure to check her oil. Samus was tempted to jump in her Varia Suit, open the hatch, and start firing, but she just kept her hands on the trigger and waited. As it tended to be, one of the pirates got too cocky and swerved in front of her. A quick blast from her ports turned him into a shower of light, his dust scattering to, one day, help form a new star.

The pirates ceased their jesting. They flew outwards, getting ready to focus their fire and finish her. Samus crushed a can of old rations, really wishing that she'd had the foresight to avoid this nuisance. At least the Varia would have enough power to get her back to Mute City. A quick input on the control board opened the chamber to her suit. Her face reflected on its newly polished plating.

Then her back hit the floor, legs rolling up and over as she pitched into a lopsided somersault. The lights went out as a huge jolt rocked through her ship. All she could see through the viewport was a pearly, white mass. Her ship jolted again as its nose knocked into… whatever it was. As she began drifting farther away, the mass took shape—some sort of space-dwelling animal. However, those usually lived in deep space, far from intergalactic hubbubs like Mute City. And this one seemed to have emerged from nowhere.

The pirates had started firing in panic, their blasts _pinging_ against the animal's armor. Its huge neck lunged outwards, and it took a bite out of the closest pirate ship. Bits of metal floated about as the fighter was shredded like a toy airplane. The animal's tail swatted another fighter into the universe beyond.

Samus' ship had started drifted towards the thing again. Though she tried to steer it away, the recent thrashing had messed with her controls. Her jaw slackened as she floated down the thing's snout. The animal seemed to be looking back at her, almost becoming cross-eyed in the process. Finally, perhaps deeming her as harmless scrap, it raced forward and away, the gunship glancing wildly off its body.

Samus tried to latch onto something. Anything! Her hand found the leg of her Varia. Summoning all her strength, Samus pulled herself upright and wrapped her limbs around the suit. She screamed the activation code, but the wrenching and groaning of the gunship overpowered her voice. The deck was flooded with light too soft for fluorescents. The shadows of clouds rushed by her. Samus reached around and punched in the manual code. At last, the suit flared to life: it dissembled, its pieces leaping forward to clamp around her. Samus fell into free fall, her ship plummeting. When had she entered a gravitational field? She'd wonder more about that later—the wild tumbling was making it hard for her grapple hook to latch onto the escape pod door.

For a second, the ship gained a hint of stability. Samus could see straight out the viewport as they scraped the peak of a mountain. A horrid whistling sound gave her a surge of desperation. As she tumbled around again, the escape pod flashed in her sight. Her grapple hook flew true and, after being whipped about, she reeled herself in. She yanked herself into the pod and keyed the ejection code.

She tensed for that explosive pop, the rush of the shuttle rocketing through the air. Yet all Samus could feel was the continual plunge.

Damn those pirates!

She hit the eject again. Nothing. The pod's window panel showed a verdant, blurry earth. She hit the eject again. Still nothing. Ahead, a white mass—its gleaming spires reaching upwards—grew more and more enormous with each pound of Samus' crazed heart. Her ship was tearing through the last of the air, plunging like an earth-bound bullet. Samus tucked into the morph ball.

And felt nothing more.

* * *

**A/N: Who exactly is going to be in this fic? … Shhh, that's a secret. Else, it wouldn't be as fun! :D**

**Again, please review. Like all writers, I love reviews… **

**This fanfic is really for me to practice my writing, so it'd be wonderful if I could have feedback!**


	2. Foreign Arrivals

**Disclaimer: All characters/franchises property of Nintendo.**

**A/N: As mentioned before, **I've played very few video games to utter completion. I'm compiling some particular Zelda universes (mostly Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess), but it'd be better just to imagine this place as another Hyrule in its entirety and receive it as it comes… rather than trying guess why this is there, or if something is missing, or that belongs to this game title, or trying to expect particular factors. Sorry if you're a stickler about technicalities.

Same goes for most other video game universes! Except triple-fold, because I've never quite managed to play them! (Damn, embarrassing.) I've reinvented/twisted/totally made-up a lot of things solely for this fic.

**AT THIS RATE, WE MIGHT AS WELL CALL THIS AN AU! DEFINITELY, UNDOUBTLY AN AU!**

**Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and who will review! Again, Byoshi, you are awesome. **Again, I'd love to know what you all think. I welcome constructive criticism—what did I do right? What can I do better? Or even just a hello!

* * *

**Foreign Arrivals**

* * *

Samus was floating. The sun alighted on her face. Birds twittered. She arched into her bed of clouds, a cat lounging into the perfect position. However, one of her arms clanked, caught by something weighty. Rolling her head, Samus fixed lazy eyes on the manacle around her wrist.

She fell. The world streaked and blurred as her stomach dropped and her heart sought to escape her ribcage. Samus threw out her arm—

And a gentle hand clasped hers.

"How do you feel?" The voice was smooth, reassuring. Samus latched onto it and pulled herself awake. A silhouette passed in front of her, blocking the sun from shooting directly into her dried-out eyes. Each swallow sent stabs through her stiff throat.

"Can you drink?" Cool fingers tucked a glass into her hand.

The water was cold, sweet, and gone in an instant. She coughed, "Samus Aran."

"Who?"

Samus tried to blink away the kaleidoscope of shadows and bright light. "Samus Aran. Bounty hunter."

"Never heard of you."

Samus felt a chill in her stomach, and it wasn't the water. The woman spoke a derivative of Hyriast, the oldest and most widespread of the galactic languages. However, her words had a strange lilt, the accents on the wrong syllables. Samus rubbed her brow and wondered how far from Mute City she'd flown.

Samus looked around: stone walls lined with wax candles; the window gave view to a sky that was too crisp and too blue. Even indoors, the air was fresh. The manacle was of unyielding iron, complete with a keyhole—something she hadn't seen since her last bust on relic smugglers. The coldness settled deeper.

The woman nodded, long hair sliding around narrow shoulders. "I am Princess Zelda, sovereign of Hyrule." A gold circlet gleamed on her head.

Samus was struck by how young she looked. "So the leader of this nation has come to see me personally? You must be either a very small country, or you must have a very strict immigration policy."

"Our kingdom is very large. Travel between our borders is more open than it has been in decades. However, my court is very interested in you." Zelda leaned closer. "I'm quite curious myself. There are not many who… arrive in your manner."

Then Samus remembered: "Where's my ship? My suit!"

"You mean your vessel and armor? Regrettably, they were destroyed upon your arrival."

Samus just stared.

Zelda continued, "Good news is that your injuries have healed remarkably over the past week. When we pulled you from the wreckage, we were amazed there was still some blood left in you. Are you… human?"

"Yes," said Samus, though she could not keep the edge out of her voice.

"Please excuse me. Interrogating strange travelers is a common practice in many places."

Samus yanked at her chain. "My suit. Do you have the pieces?"

Zelda rose in a single motion. She took a few paces, her back straight, each step measured and poised. "It is a blessing that you are alive. However…" She loomed over Samus, her eyes glinting like slates of gray-blue steel. "Some of my subjects were not as fortunate. Your ship destroyed the entire West wing of this castle. People were working and sleeping in there."

Samus might have been more considerate had Zelda left out a particular word. "_Castle_?" Samus craned her neck onto the windowsill. A team of four-legged beasts helped clear a rubble-strewn courtyard. Men, their clothing and faces white with dust, scrambled as stone slabs slid from crumbling walls and tumbled in their direction. As Samus' chin scraped the window's rim, she realized that there was no frame, no glass. It was just a hole. Squinting harder, she saw that the courtyard below was really a mosaic-tile floor, its designs blanketed by dust. In the distance lay a bustling town.

This place didn't even have electricity, much less a spacecraft. How the hell was she going to get out of here?

Zelda put her elbows on the window's fractured rim, her skin gleaming under the soft light. "You said you were a bounty hunter?"

"It's my profession. I'm well known in other parts, at least. I would show you my creds, if I still had them." Samus looked down at herself and realized that she didn't even have her clothes. Her Zero Suit had been replaced with a long robe that tied at the middle.

"You must be skilled," said Zelda.

Samus explained her gun-blazing, pirate-busting livelihood, keeping her speech slow and her voice level, and hoping that she sounded sane. She left out the gorier bits about Ridley and the Chozo, for she didn't want to seem extreme. Zelda smiled when the conversation got to interplanetary travel—"So there is life beyond the stars after all." Samus thought it was strange that she was handling everything so calmly, but Zelda said, "Our country has had a long history of strange occurrences. Supposedly, we Hylians originated from the sky, so someone dropping out of the clouds is technically old news. Your 'ship,' though, is something we haven't seen before…"

Samus hoped that the other woman was beginning to warm up, but another withering stare dashed those thoughts. Zelda said, "Since you're responsible for this horrid wreckage and the, though accidental, deaths of my subjects, I will have use for your talents."

"As long as you can send me back into a civilized sector of space."

"I cannot guarantee that, but I'm sure you prefer work to prison," Zelda said almost cajolingly. "With the damage you've done, I could lock you away for a century. That's what my late father would have done. But I feel that it would be far more productive for you to pay for your, er, arrival with service."

A hundred years of community service? Samus felt her jaw slacken. "Do I have any other choices?"

"Without any financial means or papers of citizenship, you also have the option of starving."

Samus shut her mouth.

"Very good." Zelda smiled. "Our outlying regions are experiencing the latter ends of an infestation. You'll be assisting a member of my guard to get rid of the dwindling enemy. Link can brief you on the details later."

"Yes, my Princess."

Samus jerked her head around. Perched on stool was a young man in green, his head tipped in Zelda's direction. Samus hadn't even heard him breathing.

"And let Samus borrow one of the castle horses," said Zelda. She turned back to the bounty hunter. "I suggest that you cooperate. If there is anyone with enough magical power to catapult you back into the stars, that person is me."

_Magic_? Samus' head pounded. Considering the costs of a castle wing, Samus figured she was now indentured for life. Zelda saw her grimace and laughed. It sounded like the tinkling of small, sour bells. "Don't worry, this job pays well. Do you take rupees?"

"I guess I do now."

"The doctors will check you one last time. From our energetic conversation, though, I'm sure you're ready to head out tomorrow. Consider it rehabilitation exercise."

Pink, shining scars splotched Samus' arms and legs, and map of stitches charted the grooves of her back. The doctor was a thin man whose touch was so light that she wanted to grab his hands and go, "Here is my pulse!" It was by her glare that he deemed her healthy. Afterwards, a troop of guards—their plumed helms whipping—unlocked her from bed.

Tapestries hung from the arched hallway ceiling. Some depicted knights in colorful armor. Another showed a woman playing a harp. Then, a colossal tree, its canopy home to birds of every shape. The tops of the tapestries were marked with a golden triangle insignia.

The symbol recurred on the stain-glass. As they passed into the light, Samus saw her body turn an array green, blue, and lavender. Vases made of green-blue ore sat precariously on columns, waiting for someone to bump into them. These, too, bore the triangle crest.

Samus was beginning to suspect that triangles held some sort of boggling sacred status. At last, they reached a cramped suite. The lead guard drew a key from his pouch. "If you need to leave your room, ask the guards on duty, and they will escort you to your destination."

Though their surveillance would be chafing, Samus approved of their rationale. The last thing they wanted was a murderous foreigner loose on their grounds—all while their sole sovereign slept in her nearby bed. Letting the bounty hunter leave for field missions was a risk in itself, but Samus herself felt like she needed every favor possible. As she took in her room's lantern-lit walls and straw mattress, the very air smelling of archaism, she realized that she was going to have to call this home for longer than she would like.

* * *

Altea was in ruin.

Jiol, that snake, had played a patient game. He'd amassed his followers until they outnumbered those of the king. He charted laws that favored the commonfolk, acquiring fame as the king's kindhearted advisor.

The queen praised Jiol. The princess enjoyed his tutelage. The king valued him above all his other staff. Marth alone reviled him. He saw how Jiol slipped pretty words into the king's ears and punished those who opposed him. Every time they passed in the halls, Marth would tell Jiol what he already knew—that he was a back-stabbing bastard, and that Marth had his eyes on him.

Then, Marth's father had revealed his last secret: the fabled sword, Falchion, rested in the cave of Medeus's jaws. The legend was known by all: Falchion's wielder would become light of feet and swift of mind. However, the blade was not to be moved from its bed, for one who swung it without clear purpose would curse Altea with an endless winter, and Medeus would rise again. Marth listened from the room above, ear pressed against a thinning floorboard. He could smell Jiol's wicked interest.

Marth announced that he was departing on a long journey—"Personal reprieve." He told no one the truth, not even his best friend, for travel would be swifter alone. He tore through the forest, wearing such an expression that all the brigands stayed out of his path. Finally, he reached the misty center of the wood. Cracking free a loose fang, he crawled into the jaws of the fossilized dragon. The cave was deep, dank. Condensation streamed down jagged stalagmites. Crystals crunched under his boots. Falchion shone in the darkness, its tip sunken in the dragon's stone tongue. The blade sung as he drew it, but Marth resisted its tempting cry. He buried Falchion deep in the mountains, in the sleet-stricken Ilyssus Pass. Though he ached from the feverish ride, his soul was at last relieved.

When he returned to the palace, however, Jiol was waiting for him. The man hadn't moved an inch to take Falchion. He knew Marth had been eavesdropping and, like a good prince, would steal it for him. In the weeks that Marth had been gone, Jiol warned the King of Marth's "desire" for the blade. Altea's monarch had been gravely offended, but Marth returned with Medeus' crystals still crusted to the bottom of his boots.

Marth thrashed and screamed as they threw him in prison. Unfortunately, he had no proof of Jiol's ill will. His father grew streaks of gray; his mother could not eat. His sister visited him daily, trying to talk sense into him. He kept his mouth shut; there was no sense in speaking about Falchion's hiding spot, not when Jiol lurked around the corner.

But Marth hadn't given up yet. Not when he had still had an ally. The stuffy, unsociable, mercenary of Crimea Province—whom Marth had had the fortune of meeting on a stuffy, unsociable night—was still in town. He came to Marth's cell, and the prince gave him _the look_. The one where his left eyelid began to twitch, while the opposite brow crested in a perfect arch.

When the moon was high, Ike barreled through the guards and hauled Marth's ass out of there. They rode for Ilyssus Pass and dug Falchion out of the mountainside. There was only one way to clear Marth's name—get Jiol to see the sword, and get the king to see Jiol's lust for power.

Marth stuffed himself in a barrel, which Ike loaded into a wagon and drove into the city. All the while, Marth could feel Falchion humming at his hip. He wrapped his hands around the hilt. A perfect fit.

The wagon jerked to a halt, and Marth's barrel swayed. "Nobody goes in or out," said the stern shout of the castle guards.

"I bring news that will greatly interest the king and his highest advisor. Their ears only," said Ike, taking off his hood. He a well-known friend of the prince, and therefore established with the royal family. He'd been hooded the night of Marth's disappearance, and so no one knew it had been him.

The wagon rolled onwards. Marth could hear the clank of armor—the guards were escorting them. There was no chatter of young couples or shouting from bars—everything had locked up for the night. Marth assumed the castle was hoarding its bread for an impending cursed winter. Marth's knuckles whitened around Falchion. He wouldn't let it come to that.

They stopped again. Marth felt the barrel lift into the air, Ike grunting. "What's in these?" said a guard, lifting a barrel lid and swishing his hand through the contents.

Marth's barrel thumped down on the stone floor. "Grain," said Ike.

"I see. What are you doing with barrels of grain?"

Marth could see Ike crossing his bulky arms and looming over the guards. "When I'm not being a mercenary, I'm a… part-time farmer."

"Excuse me?"

Marth burst out of the barrel. The guards shouted, reaching for their swords. Ike punched the lights out of the first. Marth drew his rapier and disarmed the second. They gagged and stuffed him in the empty barrel. "My apologies, sir," Marth said as he closed the lid, ignoring the muted screams.

"Hurry," said Ike. They could already hear the far-off shouts of other soldiers. Ike drew his golden sword. "I'll lead them away from here."

Marth clapped his friend on the shoulder and sprinted up the stairs. His father's room was on the eastern wing of the castle. Marth wrenched open the great doors. "Father! Wake up!"

His father was already awake. So was Jiol. They stood together by the glowing fireplace. "Falchion!" his father said, pointing at Marth's hip.

Carefully, Marth unbuckled the sword from his belt. He held it at arms length—one hand beneath the hilt, the other under the sheath. Turning in Jiol's direction, he bent and proffered it. "As you desired."

"Guards!" Jiol yelled.

The soldiers swarmed behind Marth. "Stay back!" he said, shooting them a vicious glare. They wavered, unsure if they should attack their prince.

"What is the meaning of this?" said the king.

Marth did not reply, his sights set on Jiol. The old man's dry, wrinkled fingers twitched. Marth took a step forward, then another. The firelight danced along Falchion's sheath. Jiol clenched and unclenched his fists. Swallowed. The king looked between his son and his advisor, paling as the truth dawned upon him.

With a litheness that belied his age, Jiol sprung forward, seizing the sheath. Marth pulled back, his hand still gripping the hilt. The sword slithered free, its song filling the room. It's tip was bright as a star.

The guards surged forward. Marth now knew whom they truly served. He spun, Falchion colliding with a worn broadsword. His steps ran smooth, his mind without falter. The guards dropped dead.

The sound of his own breathing fogged in his ears. His muscles jumped and tingled. His thoughts raced faster than his drumming pulse. However, Marth opened his eyes at the sound of another sword. Jiol stood far at the end of the room, his blade at the king's neck. "Young prince," the elder man said in slow, cautious tone, "I advise you sheathe that swo..."

His lips were moving, but Marth heard nothing except the warm fuzz in his brain. Falchion pulsed in his grip. Marth could feel himself walking forward, the world narrowing until only Jiol existed. He could hardly see Jiol's weapon straining against his father's neck. All he knew was that he was going to cut that bastard's arm off.

Falchion was swift, silver arc. Yet—a flurry of movement—the king stumbled forward, Jiol throwing him into the path of the blade.

A warm wetness. Marth touched his face and saw red on his fingers. He looked at the ground and saw his father. Falchion clattered to the floor. The wind beat against the windows, which began to frost. Somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared.

"Marth…" his father gasped, blood bubbling at his lips. The rug beneath him grew wetter and redder. Already, he was fading.

Screams. Marth whirled around and saw his mother and sister. He felt the blood drip down his face. "No—it's not!"

"Call the guards!" Jiol shouted, reaching for the fallen sword. Marth snatched Falchion and sprinted for the door, pushing past his mother and sister. People screamed as he fled from the castle.

He jumped on the nearest horse and rode until the moon turned into the sun. By then, he'd reached in Ilyssus Pass, though it was now harder to differentiate the snowy mountains from the rest of Altea. The open grasslands were frosting into a barren, white tundra. The Pass itself was extra icy. His lips chapped and his breath came in ragged puffs. He stumbled over hidden rocks and dug through snowy passages until his legs and arms were cold as the ice itself.

At last, Marth collapsed on the path. Jiol wouldn't have to try blacken their family name. Though his mother now held the throne, it was only a matter of time before Jiol struck again. As the wind whipped, Marth curled into his cape. How fitting that he should be wearing black. Black, for a traitor. Black, for the fallen.

The cold seeped into his bones, and he felt sleepy. The world grew gray at the edges. As he looked to the sky, he saw a white dragon disappear into the cloud cover. Medeus didn't look anything like that. Now the cold had gotten to his brain.

Suddenly, he felt a quiver of heat—faint, like a dream. Then it was gone, replaced by the chilly wind. He thought he'd imagined it until a boggy slush trickled down the slope, the trail freezing again as it reached him. Then, the heat, this time slightly stronger. Marth didn't know where it had come from. All he knew was that, somehow, he was going to set things right.

He clawed his way up the slope, sinking his bare fingers into the ice. Strength returned to his limbs as the trickle became a river of slush. At last, he crawled to the top. His jaw dropped. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

Snow met sand. It was a rippling, red desert as far as he could see. Marth wanted to laugh and throw himself in the slush, but the heat on his face was real. Was this part of the cursed winter, some bizarre secret that been forgotten from the legends?

Perhaps the key to undoing Altea's everlasting winter could be found here; after all, it was a scorching desert. Once more, Marth gazed across his frosted homeland. He would be back.

Marth didn't think there could be so much sand in one place. It filled his boots; it gathered in great clouds and whipped in his face. Though sun filtered into a murky blur, the heat was relentless. His throat dried and he suddenly ached for the snow.

He threw his cape over his face and stumbled towards a distant, fuzzy outcropping, a sign of possible vegetation and therefore water. The sun never seemed to set, or maybe it was just the delirium. As he surmounted a dune, the sand sinking around his ankles, he realized that the outcropping just drew farther and farther away, like a mirage. By then, it had been a whole day. Or two. Or three. He didn't know. Dropping to his knees, he unbuckled Falchion and slammed it into the sand. He cursed himself with his last, howling breath. Even that was sucked away by the sandstorm.

The last thing he saw was a shadow. It stood tall and heavy, undeterred by the elements. Strong hands seized his shoulders before he could slump to the ground. "Rest now," said a voice. Marth sagged and let himself be taken by the darkness.

* * *

The robe Samus had awoken in was unsuitable for combat—one kick and she would expose all. Samus was not body shy, but since most of the Hylian populace was covered head-to-toe, she had a feeling that any physical exposure might be a crime of indecency. That said, Samus did not want to put any more years of community service on her already lengthy sentence.

One maid sowed her a dress out of spare bedsheet. "Cotton is expensive these days," she said, double-layering the cloth so it would not be see-through. Samus had asked for pants—without any underwear, she still didn't feel comfortable doing her job in a swooshing skirt. However, the maid gave her a look that suggested Samus was not right in the head. When Samus pressed the question of borrowing underclothes, the maid looked scandalized, like she'd been asked to strip naked. Samus left her alone after that.

The guards gave her a pair of boots, the largest size in the army uniform, to keep her toes warm and crammed together. Then they left Samus to wander the courtyard. The rip was a dark, starry gouge in Hyrule's blue sky. Thin wrinkles stretched outwards from the wound like the cracks on dry, splitting skin. Still, it was healing. Unless Samus learned to fly in the next weeks, she wasn't going to get up there before it closed. Even then, she'd be at a loss of how to get home.

The corpse of her gunship had been mounted on the courtside lawn. Hylian scholars swarmed it, inspecting the charred metal through magnifying glasses. A ramshackle wall of crates did little to fence out townsfolk. As Samus neared, the people scampered to a safe distance, eyes wide with delighted curiosity—"It's true! She's a giantess!" On the other hand, the scholars leapt at Samus like hawks—"Where are you from?" and "DO—YOU—SPEAK—HYLIAN?" Samus pushed past them. The ship hatch was jammed flat, and the viewport crumpled into itself. However, the crash had torn a hole in the side. There was some "ooohs" and "aahhhs" as Samus gripped a thin, metal panel and wrenched the gap wider.

Blackness. The smell of char. Samus ran her hands across the scorched panels. She found her plasma whip lodged into the escape pod door, but the handle broke off in her hand. Its fizzing circuits illuminated the ruined cabin before going cold. Samus fastened it to the tie at her waist; despite its dead weight, it was her last tie to electricity.

The light assaulted her as she pulled herself into the outside world. Surprisingly, the scholars were gone. Instead, there was Link, his hands full with the reigns of two animals—horses, she'd learned.

He said, "It must be difficult being stranded."

"I've been stranded before. Just never a place like this," Samus said.

Link craned his neck upwards, studying the rip. "Witnesses say it was like the sky opened up, and a great dragon flew out of the hole. Right in the middle of the day. Then you came in your—" he gestured to the remains her gunship. "Then that happened—" he pointed at the castle: while its grand arches were pristine and sturdy, a huge hole and collapsed towers marred its otherwise perfect symmetry.

"The space-animal came too?" Samus asked. She'd been too busy spinning to notice.

"They say it headed west, towards the desert. No one's seen it since."

"I hadn't realized I'd brought it with me." Or rather, _it_ had somehow dragged _her_ to the land of Hyrule.

"Dragons are beings of untold mystical power," Link said as if it explained everything. He patted the horses. "Our company is about to head out. Can you ride?"

They were sturdy beasts, rippling with muscle. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

The white horse snorted.

"This is Loki," said Link. "He is the finest—"

Loki shook himself.

"—most mild-mannered—"

Loki bristled and stamped.

"—gentlest—"

Loki tried to bite his ear.

"—horse I've ever met. Perfect for beginners."

Loki began to rear back in agreement, but Link tugged on his reigns. "He's yours."

Samus looked into Loki's big black eye and sneered. The horse made a high, pitchy sound, as if laughing.

Link interrupted their contest. "I think that eye is partially blind. Stare into the other one, if you want to challenge him."

Link mounted his own horse first, nodding as Samus copied him with ease. Loki quivered, ready to bolt; Link rode closer, a frown cutting across his face. After a moment of mutual silence, Link said, "Good boy."

They trotted down the dirt road. Zelda's soldiers rode two-by-two in the front and back, leaving Samus and Link in the middle. It was an ideal position should she attempt to run, but Link didn't seem to think that it'd be a problem. Before they'd left, he'd even given her an array of weapons to choose from. Samus fingered the leather whip at her side. Though it was plain, it would keep her from getting too dirty. Link had taken everything else she hadn't shown an interest in, odd and ends strapped to his sides and saddle.

He looked nothing like Zelda. While the princess' clothing and manners marked her as the highest nobility, Link was wearing yesterday's fraying tunic. His boots were rimmed with mud, and the hat looked even more lopsided today. However, he did carry himself with a sharp professionalism—his mouth set, eyes scanning the tall, yellow fields for any flicker of trouble.

When was he going to brief her? If she didn't know her hit list, she wasn't going to be very useful. Actually, Zelda hadn't clarified how Samus' community service was going to be tallied. Per-kill? A monthly quota? Or, perhaps she would be indentured till she'd worked off the cost of the castle. Samus imagined Zelda's smiling face and decided, yes, that was the most likely answer.

As if sensing her agitation, Link said, "Our mission is to get rid of some creatures that have been prowling these regions. They are leftovers of a dark army that we recently drove from our lands."

"You were invaded," said Samus.

One of the soldiers reached forward with his spear and knocked Link on the shoulder. "Tell her, son!"

"Tell her! Tell her!" The soldiers' faces lifted in hopes of a good story.

"As I have said before, Ganondorf has been stopped. We can live in peace." Link ignored the groans of disappointment, turning to Samus, "We have spent the last year at war of some sorts. A dark lord named Ganondorf—" Link scowled "—fancied himself the new King of Hyrule. But he met his end." He smiled at that. Even his horse enlivened its stride.

Samus wished that Ridley would hurry and meet his end. And permanently. "So, Ganondorf's scattered minions run amuck, and we're here to clean them up."

Link answered with the sweet ring of his sword. The nearby trees had suddenly become gnarly, their foliage thick with twisting shadows. A high tittering echoed from within the thicket.

The soldiers lined their horses along the road and leveled their spears in the direction of the noise. Link tensed, watching the shadows with fierce concentration.

Samus steered Loki behind the group and closer to the stretch of golden fields. She couldn't use a whip while riding, and she trusted solid ground far more than she trusted the horse. The grass swayed in a warm wind. Samus inhaled, expecting the scent of sunlit grasses and open air.

It smelled like the dead.

Link's bow was in his hands. An arrow whistled into the grass next Samus, striking something with a sick _thwok_. A ripping shriek, and a black, glistening creature lurched onto the road, bent on all fours, an arrow buried in the center of its head.

The shadows in the thicket coiled and sprung; two more monsters sailed out of the darkness. More shrieks, and another two sprang from the field. The soldiers shouted, their horses rearing as the group was quickly surrounded.

Samus leapt off of Loki. Her whip cracked across the nearest creature's back, cutting it shoulder-to-shoulder. Then she brought her whip down where Link's arrow jutted from its face—a circular, plate-like mask that left no holes for eyes or a mouth. Finally, she snapped her whip around its neck, yanked, and delivered a swift kick. A mighty crunch of its vertebrae. It didn't move again.

The road was tight—tall grass on one side and dark thicket on the other. The soldier's spears were slow, their horses penned in. It was growing hard to see through the rising dust, the shouting growing louder and more frantic. Only Link barreled forward, razing anything in his path. The monsters hissed and circled him. His sword severed the arm that swung at him, the leg that tried to escape. A masked face was sliced right down the center, green ooze spurting into the light.

Samus tried to keep her blind spots guarded. She wrapped her whip around a skinny, distended arm, holding the monster still as a soldier drove his spear into its back. Though the spearhead pushed through the monster's bare chest, it just wrapped a giant hand around the man's head and shoulders. Yelling, Samus kicked its elbow into a crooked splinter. The soldier fell free, but now the monster's other arm was free of the whip. The shining nails were inches from her neck—

—and Loki's hooves rammed into its chest. The monster flew into the grass, twin depressions marring its ribcage.

Samus looked at the horse and nodded. It snorted and pawed at the ground.

The last monster was on top of a soldier, pounding a massive dent into his chest plate. With a mighty swing, Link severed its thin waist. Its two halves writhed before collapsing in its guts.

They picked each other off the ground, breathing heavily. Cuts and bruises decorated the soldiers, but the worst damage had been done to their armor. Sunlight trickled into the thicket. The grass swayed in their direction, almost in a bow of gratitude.

Link stepped forward. "Thank you, Samus, for helping defend our group."

"This job wasn't as easy as Princess Zelda made it out to be," Samus said. She had sweated a bit.

Link frowned. "I haven't seen a Twili Beast since Ganondorf's defeat, let alone five in one spot," he said. "Also, they are typically deranged. Strategy is unknown to them."

Samus gazed at the bodies. They oozed, their black flesh seeming to dribble like tar. One of the soldiers said, "What are your orders, sir!"

"We head back." Link mounted his horse. "Another group can bury the bodies. I want to report this to Princess Zelda immediately."

* * *

**A/N: Yay! Chapter 2 is done! I hope folks find it at least a little interesting!**


	3. His Gifts, Her Secrets

Disclaimer: All characters/franchises property of Nintendo.

**A/N: AU Alert!**

I think some folks might be thinking: what is SSB about this story, other than the characters? Well, **there is going to be lots of VS! and TEAM BATTLE!** Aka, the point is to get them to **FIGHT EACH OTHER FOR OUR ENTERTAINMENT!**

I wonder if anyone agrees with me: **_The Avengers_ is basically a Marvel (or is it DC Comics?) adaptation of SSB.** That's the reason the movie's anything interesting.

Captain America = Captain Falcon  
Hulk = Donkey Kong  
High-Tech Arrow Dude = Snake  
Scarlet Johansson = Zero Suit Samus/Sheik, whoever is sexier, take your pick.  
Iron Man = Samus  
Thor = Pikachu with the sledgehammer… ok, doesn't quite fit, but we were so close…!  
And then you have Loki and his alien army as Tabuu and minions, and PRESTO!

**And the whole point of the movie is to WATCH THEM FIGHT EACH OTHER!**

**Thank you every reader and reviewer! You are appreciated!**

-()-()-()-

* * *

**His Justice, Her Strength, His Gifts, Her Secrets**

* * *

-()-()-()-

"Such a fascinating power."

His voice was rich, deep. It pooled in the ears, soothing the mind and relaxing the body. Mewtwo instantly became wary.

"_The ability to restore my cells—yes, it's convenient."_ Mewtwo turned his arm over, satisfied that the scars had vanished. He concentrated more, and the fur grew back smooth as the day he'd emerged from his test tube. He plucked off the bandages.

Ganondorf didn't seem shocked by the telepathy. "Cells? You must have another word for the body where you come from. The only 'cells' in these parts are those in the dungeons."

Mewtwo grew even warier.

Ganondorf laughed. "You are a cautious one. Wise, for people in these parts are not to be trusted."

"_And where is 'these parts,' exactly?_" Mewtwo gazed out the window. A city of clay and stone hugged the walls of a red-rock valley. Squarish homes, their windows and doors alive with light, were stacked atop each other. A silent sea of dunes lay beyond.

"The Gerudo Desert. My homeland," said Ganondorf.

The stars twinkled like little jewels, but Mewtwo knew how viciously bright they could be. He ripped off the remaining bandages with a burst of psychic energy. Ganondorf cocked his head.

"_Why did you save me?"_

"I was only returning the favor."

"_I don't recall."_

Ganondorf smiled. "The god-creature. Recently, you brought him to this land. Or, he brought you—I'm not sure. Regardless, your passage tore a hole in my prison." He gazed into the dunes, as if revisiting a place far away.

-()-()-()-

_It was dark and foggy in the Sacred Realm. Ganondorf was unable to move or feel his limbs, cursed to watch the clouds churn until eternity itself wore thin. It was a maddening routine: he'd had the princess in his grasp, but that silent, insufferable hero showed up as usual. The Master Sword banished Ganondorf's spirit to the Sacred Realm, where the King of Evil would endure limbo until his next resurrection. Sometimes, he would be summoned by his followers; sometimes, by the goddesses. However, with each resurrection, his enemies would also unfortunately reincarnate, and their battle would begin anew._

_The Hylian books painted him as power-hungry, but Ganondorf was only reclaiming the rightful land of his people. Centuries ago, when Ganondorf had been young and weak, Gerudo villages had been razed to the ground. He'd seen the arrow-filled body of his mother—the queen—strung up amongst the Hylian flags, limbs whipping in the wind like a banner. When she had rotted enough to fall, the Hylian king mounted her skull on his pike. During the last battle, the Hylian king sat in the back row of his army, thrusting his pike with each grandiose order. While the Gerudo were fierce warriors, their numbers were too small. As night fell, they lay down their arms._

_Gradually, the fields turned green again; the trees grew lush on buried bodies. However, Hylian towns stood in place of Gerudo villages. They held Ganondorf's coronation in the desert. He knelt, the sun throwing a crown of light across his forehead. Beneath its hot and heavy gaze, he swore to bring justice to his people and terror to the Hylians. Then, his right hand began to glow._

_While the Gerudo had now mastered of desert life, no one would choose sand over the grassy valleys of Hyrule. As Ganondorf contemplated his ambition, he found it no mystery that the Triforce of Power had made him its master. If only he'd had power before the invasion and mother's death, so many years ago…_

_Ganondorf wondered how long it would take to escape the Sacred Realm this time. A decade? A century? He glared at a cloud, lightning flashing in its underbelly, when it was split open by a searing light. A tail, thick and pearlescent, cut through the cloud floor. He felt his soul being sucked away and out._

_He awoke in his tomb. Boulders weighed down his coffin lid, but a fistful of purple flames laid waste to them. Dust filled his lungs, and he relished the need to cough. Rubbing the still-tender hole in his sternum, he walked up the steps and, again, punched through the granite seal._

_Colorful pebbles had been laid at the unmarked tomb entrance. A Gerudo woman was just leaving the scene; her eyes were wide, mouth open. She bowed her head and dropped on one knee. "My liege."_

_The desert sky was a rare gray. A white beast flew farther and farther into the wasteland. Still high above him, something was dropping from the clouds. Ganondorf held out his hands and willed it to land softly in his arms. The creature, though horribly mangled, gave a raspy whisper._

"_How much time has passed?" Ganondorf asked the Gerudo woman. He remembered that she was Nabooru, head of the Gerudo council. As the centuries had passed, he had abandoned his title of King of the Desert; a king did not dabble in the demon arts. In turn, the Gerudo women had taken governance. They still addressed him as their lord, though, for the Gerudo did not easily forget history._

"_Only a few months since your—" Nabooru traced the sword wound on her own chest, for her liege did not know the word "defeat."_

"_Well, then this is my quickest resurrection to date," said Ganondorf._

"_Maybe this is an act of the goddesses," Nabooru said, "because they love us just as equally as they love all the other races."_

"_Perhaps." For its size, the creature was heavy. As Ganondorf shifted the weight in his arms, he knew that, this time at last, Hyrule's bloody history would come to an end._

-()-()-()-

"_You were a prisoner?" _asked Mewtwo.

"Unjustly so," said Ganondorf.

"_Says all prisoners."_

"Do you really think that?"

Mewtwo remembered Team Rocket and Palkia and agreed that he had spoken too soon. "_I suppose it's a matter of perspective._"

Ganondorf nodded, his brow easing with satisfaction. With broad shoulders and limbs, he cast a wide shadow. Yet, the noble tilt of his jaw and black armor—it's gold trim gleaming—lent him grace and regality. Mewtwo found himself drawn to each turn of the man's hand, the flutter of his cape. As Ganondorf drew to his full height and fixed Mewtwo with a commanding stare, Mewtwo found it difficult to imagine him in prison.

It was as if Ganondorf could smell his curiosity. "Go on. Say what's on your mind."

"_Why were you imprisoned?"_ Mewtwo excused his interest on the grounds that it was advantageous to study potential foes.

"It's just what happens when I am dead," said Ganondorf. As Mewtwo stared blankly, Ganondorf continued, "My enemies are never interested in holding me captive. Though they try to get rid of me for good, they can only send me to a vacuous space to wait out eternity."

"_Vacuous space?_" Mewtwo had had the luxury of residing in the material world, if only because Team Rocket's researchers hadn't yet designed a Pokéball strong enough to sustain him. He still remembered the lab trials—popping in and out of a cramped, spherical room, its walls the purest white. Then there were the glitches which contorted Mewtwo's spirit body into indescribable shapes. Mewtwo had told Giovanni that he was against spending his life in empty space, but his protests were met with easy waves of the hand. When Giovanni unveiled the Masterball, Mewtwo sent the lab up in smoke.

Trainers. Mewtwo did not have to be "trained" like some thoughtless animal. Partnerships with humans were degrading and dangerous, and this Ganondorf was no different than the rest of his selfish kind. Already, Mewtwo could sense an uncanny interest being directed his way—the kind of interest that Giovanni had harbored. This time, however, Mewtwo would not be a tool; he would use Ganondorf for his own needs. _"I need to return to Kanto, in the world of Pokémon."_

"You've done me a great service… Mewtwo." The name came crisply off of Ganondorf's tongue, pronounced with care. "I'm sure we can re-open a portal and return you to your rightful homeland, just as you have done for me."

"_You know a way."_

"Come. We have much to talk about."

-()-()-()-

* * *

-()-()-()-

"Your Highness, the court wishes no offense, but many of us think you should find a husband within the next months."

With practiced ease, Princess Zelda folded her hands on the table. How she longed to wring them around the councilman's fat neck. "As I've said before, my priority is to eradicate the last of Ganondorf's army."

Another man spoke, "Your Highness, think of it as a way to solidify your power in the eyes of the people. In troubled times, people want to look towards a stable monarchy."

"If you feel that my capability to rule is insufficient, you can suggest improvements to my recent economic policies." She smiled down the table. "As a compromise, we can return to my marriage plans in the distant future."

He squirmed. A man in gold military decorations saved him. "Also, there's the issue of the latest addition to your guard." He craned his neck to peer around Zelda's seat.

Zelda did not bother turning. Behind her, Link leaned against the wall and picked at the strings of his tunic. "He is a knight. I saw to that myself."

"He is not of noble blood!"

"Yet he does far more for this country than many of the noble class."

The general turned pink. "They will not stand for such an insult! You may have difficulty finding a suitor amongst them, even as Princess of Hyrule."

Zelda didn't even raise a brow; the young, power-seeking noblemen would eagerly agree to ride out a "mere" woman's storming should they gain the crown. However, her court's derision towards Link was becoming excessive. It was either that he was a stable boy, or that the rumors about his deeds were untrue. "Link is the most qualified person I can think of to fill his position."

"Princess, with due respect, the threat has significantly abated. I'm sure another swordsman could do the job," said a man in thin glasses. This one was usually quiet, but everyone disliked having to hold council in the mess hall. Their usual council room in the West wing had been obliterated. Some of the councilmembers were sitting on barrels for lack of chairs.

Zelda sat on a tall stool, having given the last chair to the man with a bad back. Secretly, she enjoyed the slight height over everyone else. "No other swordsmen have the same level of experience," she said. "The rumors about his, uh, adventures are true, else one of you can have my throne."

A wave of mumbling—too loud for Zelda's comfort—coursed through the council. She wasn't sure if they were shocked, or whether some were considering her bet.

"And what of the rumor that he… can turn into an animal?"

Zelda paused. It was either lose Link's credibility, or claim that he was beast. She turned to Link, praying that he could save himself. They exchanged glances, and then he said, "Well, some people say that we're all animals."

"Hysteria!" someone said. "Blasphemy!" said another. Still, Princess Zelda almost sighed in relief. Almost.

"Princess, we know your acquaintance with this man is unusual," said the man in military decorations. "However, you have never told us his last name."

Again, Zelda let Link answer for himself. He shrugged.

This effortless, split-second gesture was the last straw. "No last name—a true commoner!"

"Animals—never! He's completely uneducated and ignorant."

"Hysteria. It's spreading. He's hysterical too."

"Nonsense. Hysteria is a women's disease."

"In good intent, when was the last time Princess Zelda saw a doctor—"

"Enough!" Zelda stood, her stool tipping from the sudden movement. "I will be frank. I have no interest in our country's archaic traditions. Link is and will remain a member of my guard. And when I choose a king, it will be a man who can ease this land's troubles with a fair hand—if there are any troubles left by the time I'm done!"

Her ringing command was followed by a great trembling. The chandelier swayed. Plates clattered in their cupboards. Zelda thought she'd invoked some sort of divine power; unfortunately, it was just more stones sliding out of her crumbling castle.

Link stepped forward. "I'd like to make my announcement," he said, the rumbling ceasing so that his quiet voice could be heard.

Zelda suppressed a sigh and waved him next to her. It was unusual for Link to attend the hearings of her court. It was even odder for him to walk into the middle of one, still dirty from travel. A voice grumbled, "Hopefully its his resignation…" It hadn't meant to be heard, but an echo pitched it around the room.

Link stood, back straight. "This morning, my team encountered Twili Beasts." Then he stepped back and sat down again on his stack of crates.

"Twili beasts! Were there casualties?"

"How can this be?"

"I guess he didn't defeat Ganondorf after all…"

Zelda raised a hand, and slowly the babble ceased. "This court is adjourned. I wish to speak with Link privately."

Save for some grumbling, the councilmen left with no resistance. Once quiet reigned over the room, Zelda gestured for Link to take a seat next to her. Link summarized the afternoon's encounter.

Zelda leaned her elbows on the table and massaged her forehead. "And Samus?"

"She likes whips. And is rather fearless."

"So she was useful after all."

Zelda pushed back her stool and breathed. "Link, I'm tired of hiding in this castle. Next time, I'm going to accompany your team. I want to see for myself what is going on in my country."

Link nodded. "I'll do my best to assist you, my Princess."

Zelda suppressed another sigh. She wondered how many sighs were trapped in her tiny diaphragm. "How many times do I have to tell you, don't be so formal." Perhaps he was trying to make up for his lack of noble heritage. "However, thank you for your support."

Zelda ran a hand through her hair, sprinkling the loose strands on the ground. She thought about what her court would say: they'd throw a fit about a princess riding full saddle, in armor. They'd make claims about her being unfit to rule. As Link watched her with attentive eyes, she was awash with gratefulness. If there was an ally she could depend on, it was him.

She had never asked about his adventure through Hyrule to stop Ganondorf—though "adventure" was hardly the right word. Zelda had almost burst with questions on several occasions, but she sensed that he did not want to talk about it. Given his dangerously duty-driven ways, the least she could give him was privacy. "Last thing, Link."

He nodded.

"Keep an eye on our guest. I doubt that her arrival and our new problems are unrelated."

-()-()-()-

* * *

-()-()-()-

Samus was having that dream. Again.

The heat licked at her face, the buildings swelling into bonfires. A little girl hunched on the ground, tears plastering blond hair to her face. She clung to one of the bodies, trying not to touch the hole in her mother's belly.

"Hey," Samus said. "She's not coming back."

"Mom?" As the girl turned towards Samus, her face fell. Yet after a closer look, she said, "Do I know you?"

"Just hang in there," said Samus. "You're going to become really kickass."

The girl paled, the burns on her cheeks like blotchy rashes. Her mouth stretched into a scream. In her wet, blue eyes, Samus saw her reflection—a giant robot monster. Samus looked down at herself and saw the armor of her Varia suit.

This is new, Samus thought. She reached to pull off the helmet, but it was stuck. Well, the little girl would just have to deal.

A crash—a dragon landed on top of a house, knocking over the last of its support beams. "Samussss…"

Samus didn't wait for Ridley to finish. White energy fizzed in her arm cannon. However, it didn't fire—the cannon grew hotter and hotter until Samus thought her arm was going to explode.

"Problems?" Ridley sneered as she buckled from the pain. He charged her, wings stoking the flames so high that they leaped for the clouds. Samus couldn't roll away; her knees had locked themselves tight. Ridley's pointed tail smashed her into a building.

Samus pushed herself onto her knees; the suit creaked, its pieces crumbling. The little girl was standing in the middle of the carnage. Ridley swooped for her, jaws wide.

"Run!" Samus shouted even though she knew it was just a dream. Ridley swallowed the girl whole. Samus plummeted down his throat. It was hot and tight, his esophagus crushing her before dropping her into a pool of bubbling stomach acid. Her Varia cracked and sizzled. Samus tried to scream but no sound came out—

She jerked awake. She sucked in huge gasps of air, the cold sting telling her that she was not in the belly of the beast. Once her feverish body had cooled, she rolled over and stuffed her head underneath the pillow. It had been a while since she'd had that dream, and the sudden twist had been more than unsettling. Perhaps her day-to-day routine of busting pirates wasn't as therapeutic as she thought it had been. Or perhaps Hyrule itself was getting under her skin.

At least the dream had reminded Samus of her suit. As she climbed out of bed, she decided she would inspect the pieces that had been collected during her coma. However, the guard posted at the hallway's end was gone. Samus frowned. It had only been a few days since her lodging and first mission, and already they were slacking. No wonder Hyrule had been invaded.

"It's just as they say! She is seven feet tall!"

"No, eight!"

"Such lovely golden hair!"

Samus swung to see a cluster of maids. Some hid their mouths behind their dusters, their eyes crinkling into delighted half-moons.

"You there!" she said, marching towards the group. They gasped as she towered over them. "Can someone take me to the armory?"

One of them bobbed a curtsy. "Ma'am, a guard will take you."

"Guards! Guards!" They called, scattering like panicked hens. Despite the ruckus, the guard arrived slouching and scratching his nose.

His used his spear like a walking stick, its tip waggling to-and-fro, as he led Samus down the corridor. "Did'ja sleep well?" he asked. Samus didn't bother answering.

Samus left a trail of footprints as she crossed the armory floor. While her ship had struck the West wing, the shockwaves had covered the rest of the castle in several years' worth of grime. Thankfully, Samus' surviving gear—arm cannon, a dented shoulder guard, and some ragged circuitry—lay on a clean tarp. She also found some pieces of chest and bicep plating, and a dead battery cell. Last was her helmet. A huge slice ran down its middle, a bare inch of metal preventing it from splitting into two; the green-tinted shield was gone.

Samus clutched the helmet until her hands were white. She'd clung to the slim hope that her suit would be more intact. She'd wanted something solid and familiar to anchor her in this unreliable world, to guard against unpredictable dreams. As the Hylian guard sneezed and mumbled to himself, Samus' ire rose. She wanted to be left alone. Then, a knock at the door. Link's blond head caught the morning light.

"Good day!" the guard said with obscene cheer.

"Same," Link said. "It's okay. Return to your post."

The guard sauntered away, taking the dismissal as a day off. Samus glared at Link, trying to communicate her desire for solitude without having to tell him off. All Link did was hold out a package.

Samus hesitated, then tore off the brown paper. "Pants!" She measured them against her legs. A perfect fit.

"The seamstress guessed your measurements," Link said.

Samus jumped into them. They were made of wool—stretchy and light, yet thick enough to keep out the chill and strong enough to withstand a romp. They snuggled against the curve of her calves, reminding her of her Zero Suit. Even the color was similar.

"She picked the color. Said it would compliment your eyes," Link said.

Samus trusted that town gossip was simply doing its job. "I asked a maid for pants the other day, but she refused."

"Most Hylian women don't wear pants, especially those living in larger cities, away from the country. Many consider it a barbaric custom of the Gerudo, the sand women."

It seemed that pants were so scandalous that some women didn't even want to be associated with them. "How did you get the seamstress to make them?"

"I'm persuasive." He patted his pocket, which jingled.

Samus knew she ought to say "thank you," but it had been so long since she had ever thanked anyone. The two, tiny words felt sticky and cumbersome, and wouldn't get off her tongue without a stutter.

Link seemed to understand. "The other day, things would have been much worse without you."

Samus agreed. While Link had been very capable, the other soldiers might have met their end had they been alone. "Are your soldiers trained?"

Link paused. "I'm not sure. Though, I'm hardly trained myself—not formally."

"Huh." Samus was a tad impressed. "Well, as long as you can kill it."

Specks of dust winked in and out, floating placidly. Samus could no longer feel the cold on her legs. A gurgle in her stomach told her she was also ready for breakfast, and therefore could stand the noise and jostle of other people.

"You know, you nearly killed me," said Link.

"What?"

"A week ago, I was asleep in the West wing."

"Oh," said Samus. "Well, if you were awake before me, I'm sure I had it way bloodier than you did. All's fair."

Something akin to a laugh escaped Link. He scuffed at the ground with his heel.

"By the way, could you get me some underwear?" asked Samus.

"U-underwear!" His cheeks turned a pink.

"Never mind."

-()-()-()-

* * *

-()-()-()-

The Gerudo Fortress was a twisting maze, its many corridors empty save for infrequent guards. The women watched Mewtwo with kohl-lined eyes. They nodded stonily to Ganondorf, their expressions hidden behind a veil. Mewtwo drifted along, glancing at their weaponry and lean muscles. The faster he learned, the better.

Mewtwo expected the fortress to be as barren as its desert, but pale stones inlaid the walls in simple patterns. An animal skull was mounted above an archway, colorful feathers springing from its mouth. His reflection distorted on the lovely curves of a glass vase, making him look more hideous than usual.

"Contrary to popular belief, my people are not thieves. We are artists as well as warriors, magicians, and mothers," said Ganondorf.

"_Magicians? You use magic?"_

"When you fell from the god-creature's claws, you were a mangled corpse. However, I am well-practiced in medicine, and also in sorcery." He looked Mewtwo in the face. "I wrought you back from the edge of death."

Though Mewtwo was lost in a random corner of the galaxy, he was determined to hold the upper hand. "_Why should I trust and ally myself with you, aside from: 'I'm stuck here, in nowhere land.'"_

The hallway stretched onwards, the torches flickering in the gloom. Ganondorf came to a stop. "The world is vast and mighty," he said. "There is always much to learn and much to gain. A friendship would benefit us both."

Friendship. Mewtwo let out an audible scoff. Here it was—the greed, the selfishness—predictable as ever, even in the same words. "_And what makes you think I'm interested in something as banal as friendship."_

Ganondorf responded with an air of deep calm. "Because you and I are one of a kind." He leaned closer, his voice low. "The same jaded, untrustworthy, vengeful kind."

Mewtwo would have commented on how Ganondorf had the advantages of being clearly humanoid, if his secrets hadn't just been spilled into open air. Was this the sorcery thing? A trick of the mind?

Ganondorf smiled, his long incisors glinting in the darkness. "The contempt is rolling off of you in waves," he explained.

"_You don't know _anything_ about me_," Mewtwo said, part in spite, and part to quash his own anxiety. Ganondorf had even guessed the "vengeful" bit. Mewtwo was torn between pleasure and fear. On one hand, his power was being recognized; on the other hand… Was he really that easy to read?

"After you have lived as long as I have, you start picking up on types of people," said Ganondorf, though his smile did not abate. Mewtwo kept silent. Admittedly, he was young.

Ganondorf continued, "History has proven that those with power usually use it to benefit themselves, yes?"

Mewtwo glared. _"You have power. Do _you_ abuse it?"_

"I do have power. Terrifying power." Ganondorf raised his chin. "And I simply plan to take back what is mine. You will help me, and at the end, you will be able to return home. Once I acquire the complete Triforce, I would be able to grant any wish. Working alongside me is simply in your best interest."

"…_Fair enough."_ Mewtwo tried to collect his wits. Insidious "mind-reading" aside, Ganondorf seemed very much like Giovanni, and Giovanni Mewtwo knew how to handle. While such men were well-resourced, cultured, and intelligent, they always had some sort of weakness. Arrogance had been Giovanni's. If Ganondorf had any smarts, he would be careful to reveal nothing about himself, especially anything related to the workings of his magical powers.

"It's usually unwise to share secrets with strangers, but as a gesture of trust—" Ganondorf towered over Mewtwo, his long shadow casting the Pokémon into further darkness. The torches threw an orange light into his eyes. His voice was quiet, "—You should know that I can only be killed by a certain blade."

Mewtwo went cold. Everything—his blood, his heart, the sound of his breathing—was muffled and slow. Surely, he was being screwed with. Giovanni hadn't shared any of his secrets, much less the method of assassination. Mewtwo, whose oversized brain worked faster than any human's, found himself frozen in shock.

Ganondorf chuckled. "Mmm, speechless, I see. And probably thinking that I'm lying. Well, see this?" He rubbed the scar on his chestplate with long, fond strokes. "The last death blow I suffered from the Master Sword. Sent me straight to heaven. Or the Sacred Realm. Whatever."

Mewtwo desperately tried to say something. _"So this person wields this blade, and you are afraid that, if you confront him, he will kill you. Again."_

Ganondorf exploded with laughter. "Not quite. Rather, this ambition of mine needs a change in tactics. My enemies, who also happen to be my targets of interest, are starting to catch on to things."

"_Well, then what do you plan to do about them?" _Mewtwo floated into the torchlight, anxious to get moving.

"Make them dance, like always," said Ganondorf. They continued down the hallway. "I've already started while you sleeping away the last week."

"_And what if they died in a grisly accident?"_

"I would be very upset. If they died, the complete Triforce would elude us, and you'd be stuck here for who knows how long. So, instead of killing, think _kidnapping_. After I acquire their pieces of the Triforce…" Ganondorf let out a long, hissing breath, "…then I can kill them."

Mewtwo nodded. "_And how do you plan to go about this 'kidnapping_?'"

"We will draw them out and set a trap. Then, it is as simple as getting a cat in a bag," said Ganondorf, though Mewtwo was unsure if it was a joke. Being a cat Pokémon, he knew it was difficult to make him stay in an iron cage, let alone a sack.

"One is a proficient swordsman. Wears green, very identifiable. The other is a princess good with the bow," said Ganondorf. "The trick is not to let them know I've returned. That's where you come in."

It was back to doing someone else's dirty work. At least Ganondorf was being honest… or so Mewtwo hoped. "_A swordsman should be easy to manage. Where I come from, my kind is superior to melee types_,_" _said Mewtwo, even though he knew he sounded arrogant.

"Your psychic abilities are admirable, but I suggest that you do not underestimate my enemies. They've proven to be very clever." Ganondorf stopped at a door and knocked. "However, if this task is too easy, it could be made more pleasurable with company."

Ganondorf opened the door. A man in black was sitting up in bed, blinking, his blue hair sticking in messy directions. A sword leaned against the wall, half-wrapped in a cape.

"_More swordsmen_?" This land was archaic from top to bottom.

Ganondorf smiled. Beneath its gentleness lay something black and poisonous. Mewtwo could only hope that he would be on his way to Kanto soon.

-()-()-()-

* * *

-()-()-()-

**A/N: I'm wondering if this fic's timeline is confusing. So here is THIS FIC: CHRONOLOGICALLY!**

-Everybody's damn backstory.

-Mewtwo pisses off Palkia, they go on a space–warp  
-Samus runs into them, crashlands Hyrule, smashes the Castle  
-The rip to Hyrule breaks the Sacred Realm, Ganondorf is freed, and Mewtwo drops from the sky  
-Palkia flies into the distant desert and rips into Altea, Marth finds rip and is lost in the desert for a few days, gets rescued by Ganondorf  
-A week passes: Samus awakens. She and Link go hunt some monster ass  
-Mewtwo wakes up, he and Ganondorf have a chat (all in one night…. Yes it's written non-linearly)  
-Zelda wants action and Samus gets pants

-Everything else to come.

**So, I'm curious, did anyone actually follow that? Am I too confusing?... Is Ganondorf's backstory confusing? Let me know… Else I'll just continue w/ my confusing writing! Again, I'd love a review/constructive crit!**


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